Tomb of the Lost (59 page)

Rushton and his men were in place ready to storm the first of the machine gun nests. The scoped Enfield trained on the guard on the left. Tosh Wilkes the man behind the sight.

“
Could you guarantee killing them with the silenced pistol Tosh?
”
Rushton asked.

“
Not at this distance.
”

Rushton and all knew that the scoped rifle would make enough noise to alert the whole garrison but they had no choice. The sentries needed to be taken out quickly. Tosh the best marksman any of them had ever seen. The three Germans were lolling about near their post. Two of them were craftily smoking. The third was clearly telling them a story. Tosh sighted on the man talking. He was the closest to the MG42. Tosh would have just seconds to get off three shots. Two of which would be on, undoubtedly, moving targets. He took two deep breaths and held it on the third. He trained the scope on the German
’
s midriff and slowly brought it up past his chest, his neck, his face and settled it on the forehead. Tosh pulled his finger back on the trigger. It reached its zenith. Then he released at the same time his eyes widened. The Germans had suddenly sprung into life. The two smokers throwing down their cigarettes and rushing for their weapons. The man Tosh had been about to kill lunging for the MG42.

“
What the hell
…
.?
”
Rushton stopped in mid sentence as the sound of the far away alarm reached them.

The German guards were randomly pointing their weapons, unsure as to where the threat lay. One of them ran over and pushed a red button. Their alarm now began sounding, accompanied by a red flashing light. Tosh took careful aim and sent two bullets into the electrical box silencing the alarm. The noise of his rifle wicked. A third bullet took out the red flashing light smashing it. The German MG42 suddenly burst into life. Its gunner sending red hot deadly bullets to all sides as he moved it to and fro strafing the area just ahead of the British. Rushton and his men lay flat on their faces, their hands covering their features until the bullets stopped.

Rushton and Tosh looked up. The two German guards with the rifles were running, keeping close to the wall. Inside the fortress German Wehrmacht soldiers were rushing out of the main building to take up the fight. Rushton fired a burst from his Sten into the chest of the first German running along the fifty foot high Medina wall. Tosh brought the second one down with a shot from the Enfield. It took the German in the throat and he collapsed in a spray of blood. The MG42 began spitting its deadly projectiles in all directions until another bullet from Tosh punctured the gunner
’
s steel helmet. The force of the impact spun him around and he collapsed, sprawled over the sandbags surrounding the machine gun, dead.

Rushton sprang to his feet.

“
Go! Go! Go!
”
he shouted.

His men jumped up and followed, running doubled over, guns at the ready. They covered the open area in seconds and dashed through the stone archway. The German who
’
d been hit in the neck was still alive and a well aimed boot from Tosh crushed his throat killing him.

Inside the Medina courtyard there were a variety of motor vehicles, trucks, cars, Kubels, motorcycles. In front of the main steps leading up to the German HQ were two machine gun nests. These opened fire at the British immediately forcing the S.A.S to dive for cover. The Germans stopped firing. Not wishing to waste ammo or hit their own vehicles unnecessarily. Everytime a British soldier raised his head though it was greeted with a burst from a forty two.

Shouts in German echoed across the square.

Rushton peered between the front wheel of a half track and its bumper. He could see Wehrmacht running from a corner gateway into the Medina. The men of the Long Range Desert Group were being boxed in and for now there was nothing they could do.

Alf and Johnny kept in the shadows between buildings. From where they hid they could see boats anchored at the harbour. Sentries were patrolling. Pacing up and down near the water
’
s edge. On the submarine now there was activity. The hatches were open and occasionally crew members would enter and leave via them. There were some crates nearby. A soldier was checking their contents with a crowbar and then when satisfied he nailed the lids back down. A small tractor came rumbling along pulling trailers loaded with cans full of fuel. Boat crews began offloading them onto their vessels, storing them anywhere and everywhere. All available space was filled.

Another boat, a motor torpedo boat, entered the harbour from the sea. It motored down to a crawling speed and circled the harbour slowly and nosed its way in to dock. Securing lines were thrown overboard and crew members jumped ashore and lashed the boat to the jetty. The Captain gunned down the engine and switched it off. A last puff of black diesel smoke and the engine was silent. The boat rocked slowly from side to side.

Captain Johann Hapfoel stepped neatly ashore. He was tall, well over six feet, highly experienced, but also disgraced. He had for a time in his career served in a penal regiment. Though retaining his rank he had lost his position as a U-boat commander. He still dressed as though he was a submarine captain. Black boots, black trousers, white polo neck sweater, black uniform jacket with his medals and badges of rank and black leather hat which he sometimes substituted for a black, commando style, wool hat. He also smoked a pipe and sometimes, rarely, cigars. Tonight he chose a cigar. He took one from an inside pocket, bit the end off and spat it out, and lit it. A waft of cigar smoke blew across the dockside until Johnny and Alf smelt it.

Another man ran up to Hapfoel and they began talking. The new man gestured three times at the U-boat and twice at the gunboats. Alf watched as they walked away deep in discussion. Johnny turned and put his back to the wall.

“
How the hell are we supposed to take this Alf? The place is swarming with Germans.
”

“
I don
’
t know son. But we must find a way.
”

To their horror the situation suddenly got a lot worse. Lights appeared on the crates in front of them causing Alf and Johnny to shrink further against the wall.

German army lorries thundered in from the road to the East. They pulled up one behind the other. Soldiers jumped out and lowered the tailboards and dozens of Wehrmacht piled out of each one. All were carrying rifles. A Mercedes saloon drew up alongside and out stepped Otto Wurtz, Hans Koenig and Doctor Werner Von Brest. Alf and Johnny recognised them all instantly.

“
Oh God Alf. It
’
s him!
”

Johnny felt dread as he saw the chilling black uniform.

“
He
’
s the bastard that was going to kill us,
”
Johnny felt panicked
“
I never wanted to see him ever again. Alf let
’
s get out of here
…
.
”

“
Johnny calm down. Sh! You
’
re talking too loud. Calm down lad. He
’
s a bastard all right. But he
’
s just one man. We wait for Doyle and his men to get here.
”

“
Alf let
’
s leave. Let
’
s get back to Rushton and tell him we weren
’
t able to take the port
…
.
”

“
We
’
ll do no such thing Johnny. We
’
ll wait. There
’
ll be an opportunity.
”

“
I hope you
’
re right Alf.
”

“
So do I. But I promise you one thing. The moment this kicks off that SS bastard will be the first to die.
”

“
We
’
ve done very well Colonel, Major. I congratulate you both on a job well done. The submarine is still here as planned. Had we been late it would undoubtedly have sailed leaving us stuck here. On behalf of the Fuhrer gentlemen thank you.
”

Both men were pleased with the Doctor
’
s praise. Hapfoel approached. Von Brest turned to intercept him.

“
Captain Hapfoel I presume.
”

“
Yes Herr Doctor Von Brest.
”

“
I am. May I present Colonel Koenig. Major Wurtz.
”

The men all shook hands.

Wurtz had an obvious look of displeasure on his face. He looked the Captain up and down. He took in the black jacket which had seen better days. It was so dirty it was shiny. The white polo neck jumper, holes in the body and frayed sleeves The hat at least appeared to be clean. Around the man was the overpowering stink of diesel. Hapfoel was unaware of it. The smell of the fuel, the sea and unwashed bodies had been with him his whole adult life.

Wurtz was even more horrified to hear that Hapfoel was the newly promoted Captain of the submarine. The previous Captain had only two days before been killed in an accident involving scalding oil.

“
Is the artefact being stowed on board the submarine?
”
Wurtz asked.

“
No Herr Major. The submarine is not equipped to deal with such a precious cargo. No that freighter over there is to have the privilege. It has a civilian crew. I would be most grateful if your men were to accompany it.
”

“
Of course Herr Doctor my men will be honoured,
”
Wurtz
’
chest puffed out, filled with pride. The honour of bringing Hitler
’
s gift would be his and with it unknown personal honours. Wurtz imagination suddenly whisked him back to Berlin. In the presence of the Fuhrer.
‘
What could come next. Promotion? Ah yes. Colonel Otto Wurtz of the SS. What about? Command of one of the death camps. It
’
s mine for the taking. Should I ask Hitler for it? My dream position. Helping in the final solution.
’

His ears snapped his attention back.

“
Your men also Colonel.
”

“
Yes of course Doctor. May I be permitted to know exactly where we are sailing to.
”

“
To the island of Malta. Then from Malta to Naples, Italy. Then we shall continue our journey overland. I myself will be sailing with the freighter. I couldn
’
t possibly imagine letting the artefact out of my sight. I will of course be accepting the Captain
’
s quarters for the duration of the journey. You will have to fight amongst yourselves for who gets the first mate
’
s bunk.
”

Koenig couldn
’
t imagine how bad the Captain
’
s cabin would be on the rusting hunk of scrap that was the freighter let alone any of the other bunks.

“
I think it would be useful to you now if you met the crew of the Tangipito,
”
the Doctor turned and bellowed to four men who came over. They were three negroes and a man with eastern oriental features. The man in the black polo neck jumper and incredibly filthy white cap introduced himself.

“
I am Captain Eli Mufasa. These are my officers,
”
Mufasa spoke very good English with a very heavy accent. He extended his hand. Von Brest shook it firmly, so did Koenig who was not at all surprised at the strength of the grip. Wurtz ignored the offered hand.

“
May I ask which country you
’
re from captain.
”

“
Of course. I am from the Ivory Coast.
”

“
Which is where Captain?
”

Mufasa got down and crudely drew a map of Africa in the dust. In the poor light the others strained to see. Then he drew his country roughly.

“
Ah then your country is a French province. That
’
s what I can trace in your accent, French.
”

“
Yes Sir the Cote D
’
Ivoire.
”

“
Excellent,
”
Wurtz was pleased. He extended his hand and shook Mufasa
’
s vigorously.

’
What are you about? Wurtz?
’
Koenig asked inside his head
’
What treachery is going through your mind?
’

He couldn
’
t have been further from the truth. Wurtz loved the French, their food, their drink, their women.

“
You like my country?
”

“
I like the French,
”
Wurtz cleverly twisted it,
“
Especially their wine.
”